


Gold like the sun

by Cookie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-23 02:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17071964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie
Summary: Merlin told him he felt unwell before they set off.  Arthur wished he had listened.





	Gold like the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Dear Plumantis,
> 
> Happy Holidays - I hope you enjoy this little offering. You gave me a lovely set of prompts and I've tried to get at least some of them in. 
> 
> xx

Arthur knew what happened was all his fault - but in the end, he couldn't really be sorry.

**

“Come on , Merlin. The day’s short enough without you dawdling. We need to get to Greensway before these bandits strike again. The village can’t afford to lose any further provisions to them." 

Two of the villagers had staggered into Camelot late the previous evening, begging for help against a small group of well-armed men, who had raided them twice. No-one had yet been killed, but Arthur had felt his features harden and he'd glanced at Merlin, seeing his own anger there.

“Why do I have to come. I don’t feel well.”

Come to think of it, Merlin was even paler than normal, but Arthur ignored the petulance in his tone - he was well-used to it. “We’re leaving now - get on your horse.”

He turned his attention to his own final preparations, carefully turning a deaf ear to the discontented mutterings. He glanced up as Lancelot approached him.

“Sire, perhaps it would be best not to take Merlin if we need to move swiftly.”

“He’ll manage,” Arthur didn’t mean to be short with Lancelot, but the friendship between he and Merlin discomfited him in some way he refused to consider, trying to tell himself it was because it wasn't seemly for a knight to be so close to a servant.

“Sire,” Lancelot bowed and retreated and while there was nothing in his manner that suggested anything other than respect, yet Arthur was still left with the feeling that he’d failed some test.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Gaius approach Merlin, reaching up to hand him a packet, which Merlin stowed in his pack, before Gaius hauled off the mittens he was wearing and passed them up. Merlin tried to refuse them but Gaius raised an eyebrow and Merlin managed a weak smile as he accepted them and pulled them on. 

Arthur dismissed his recalcitrant servant from his mind as he mounted and cast his eye across the knights, seeing the resolute expressions. Hengroen danced beneath him, eager to be gone and Arthur steadied him. Pride swelled his heart for a moment. This was not a journey any of them would relish, close to Yule in a hard winter, but he knew the villagers were desperate and it was his duty to protect them. Their journey would take them a good day’s ride from Camelot on a long summer’s day so it was likely they would have to spend at least one night camped in the forest in these, the shortest days of the year. Merlin was leading the pack pony that would keep them supplied through a hard ride.

He raised his fist. “Let’s ride.” And without looking back at the company, he led the way out of the castle.

**

Arthur frowned, glancing back at the troop behind him. Normally Merlin would have been trotting along beside him, usually complaining about something. Now, however, he was trailing at the back of his knights, hunched over his pony and looking thoroughly miserable. It struck Arthur then that Merlin was ill-prepared for the conditions they were facing. He was wearing a cloak over his usual coat, it was true, but it looked thin and hardly likely to be able to keep out the biting cold of the winter wind. He was about to comment, to express his irritation at Merlin but stopped as it dawned on him suddenly that he rarely saw Merlin dressed in more than one or two outfits. Shame heated his face briefly as his own thoughtlessness was brought to the fore in the brutal evidence of his manservant’s suffering.

How could he have been so unthinking. Merlin was important to him, he could admit that now, even though it had taken him a long time to acknowledge it. Merlin was also his responsibility, as much - if not more - than anyone else in his kingdom. He realised then that Gwaine had taken charge of the pack pony and as he watched, Lancelot paused his horse by Merlin, unhitched his cloak in an elegant gesture that Arthur envied, and wrapped it around Merlin’s shoulders. Arthur saw the weak attempt at a protest, before Merlin pulled it close about him. 

Lancelot rode forward, falling into place beside Leon. There was a brief exchange, Leon looking concerned and casting his own glance back at Merlin. 

Arthur looked at the sky. They were close to where he’d intended to stop for the night - a glade at the edge of the forest, providing cover from the increasing wind, with a cliff face close behind offering more protection from the elements as well as security, and a meadow in front. it would make any attack by the roving bandits obvious. He pushed them on, ignoring a murmur of concerned voices behind him, but the relief when he called a halt was almost palpable.

“Merlin!”

It was an alarm, and Arthur turned in the saddle just in time to see Merlin hit the ground.

He was off his horse and striding towards the huddled form before he’d made any rational decision as to what his actions should be.

Merlin’s body was twitching, and the only sound was a horrible hoarseness n his breathing. Arthur wasn’t sure what his expression was like, but it halted both Lancelot and Gwaine in their tracks as they rushed forward. Hunkering down, Arthur rolled Merlin over. 

He froze.

Perhaps he made a sound, perhaps his very stillness alerted the others that something out of the ordinary was happening here, but they all pressed forward until they could see what Arthur could see.

The evidence.

The damning evidence.

The evidence that told Arthur he should leave Merlin here in the cold, should ride off and let him die.

Merlin’s eyes were half open, but instead of blue, all Arthur could see was bright gold.

A shocked hiss from one of his knights brought him back to the moment.

“We need to keep him warm. Let’s get a fire started.”

He was almost frozen by the ice in his own voice.

“Sire, perhaps Merlin is enchanted. Is he the victim of some curse?”

Arthur looked up at Lancelot and then turned his attention to the others.

“Percival, Elyan - see if you can gather enough firewood to see us through the night. Leon, Gwaine - try and get a bird or two.”

Gwaine looked as if he was about to argue, took one look at Lancelot and followed Leon out of the clearing.

Arthur stood and in one fluid moment, had his hand around Lancelot’s throat.

“You are a bad liar, Sir Lancelot. You knew - you know what he is.”

Lancelot met his eyes, fearless and unapologetic.

“I do, Sire.”

“You swore fealty to me and yet you did not tell me this?”

“It was not my secret to tell - and I had sworn my friendship to Merlin before I took my vow. I do not believe the two to be incompatible.”

“Are you lovers?”

Lancelot’s eyebrows did a fair imitation of Gaius at that point, and then he had the effrontery to laugh. Arthur was tempted to throttle him at that point and Lancelot choked off his obvious amusement as he correctly read Arthur. His voice was gentle as he explained.

“Merlin is my friend. I found out about the magic when he saved us both from the Griffin. There is only one person in Merlin’s life - and that is you. He uses his magic to protect you and I will not let him die for it.” The gentleness turned to steel and Lancelot’s stepped backwards out of Arthur’s hold and turned his attention to the huddled form on the ground. “There are waxed sheets on the pack horse, we need to get him off the wet ground."

**

By the time the others clearly deemed it safe to return, Arthur and Lancelot had cobbled together a shelter between two trees. Merlin was wrapped in blankets and there was a red cloak covering him. 

Arthur noted the look Elyan cast at Merlin, while Percival simply built the fire.

“Elyan do you have a flint -“

From his bundle of blankets a gloved hand appeared and a croaking voice uttered one word.

The firewood caught and was burning brightly in seconds. Elyan barked out a surprised laugh. “Useful at least.”

For some reason, Arthur felt relief and sat on his own ground sheet, watching the business associated with setting up a camp. Gwaine and Leon had been lucky, or so he assumed, and were dealing with a brace of pheasants. Lancelot was unearthing cooking utensils and the stack of herbs Merlin used to flavour their meat. Arthur didn’t exactly feel excluded, but he recognised that they were waiting for him to speak first and for the moment he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He kept waiting for the sting of betrayal and yet all he felt was exasperation overlain by so much concern. Merlin was dangerously ill, that much was certain, and he had to dismiss everything else for the time being. He already knew he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to him, and any other decisions could wait.

He recalled the packet Gaius had pressed into Merlin’s hands. “Lancelot, check Merlin’s pack - he might have some medicines in there that would help.

Lancelot did as he was asked and then stared rather helplessly at the packets and pouches he unearthed from Merlin’s medical pouch. Leon stared at them and then pointed. 

“Those - steeped in hot water and see if he’ll take the liquid. Gaius gave me that when I had a fever last year.”

“Thanks,” Lancelot dropped them into one of the pots

Arthur watched them as his knights busied themselves around the camp, noting their calmness, the way each and every one of them took a moment to check Merlin, tucking the covers more firmly round him as he moaned and moved uneasily, mopping the sweat from his brow and helping Lancelot to support him as they did their best to get him to drink the potion. At one point Merlin’s eyes opened, fixing unerringly on Arthur, and Arthur met that gaze, keeping his own expression calm as, with a blink, swirling gold gave way to blue. Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur was helpless in the face of that sweetness. He felt his stern expression relax even as he fought against it, and knew that Merlin, delirious and fever-ridden as he was, understood everything.

 

**

When they were all settled, huddled close together around the fire and making the most of the hot food Gwaine had cobbled together, he spoke.

“Merlin won’t be well enough to travel on tomorrow. We need to get him back to Camelot, but we can’t abandon the village.”

“If you take the rest onto the village, I could wait with Merlin. If he’s well enough I can start the journey with him back to the citadel.”

Arthur wasn’t surprised that it was Lancelot who spoke first, though he could see that any of the others stood ready to offer the same.

“This spot is defensible. With bandits in the vicinity I don’t want anyone travelling alone. No, I will stay with Merlin and you must make the best speed you can to the village. Find out what capacity they have to protect themselves. There are some crossbows and quarrels that you can leave them. They have a smith and can make more. If they stand a watch, and make it clear they’re armed and under Camelot’s protection, then I hope that will be enough. Tell them if they are attacked and lose any more of their supplies, they must come to Camelot for the winter. I will take care of my people.”

“Sire, is it best that you stay with Merlin?” Lancelot asked.

Arthur swallowed his disappointment. He would not offer them assurances. They were going to have to trust that Merlin was safe with him. “Those are my orders, Sir Lancelot.”

Of all of them, he was most acutely aware of Gwaine’s intense stare. Lancelot would always bow to his authority, but Gwaine would do what he thought right, and damn any chain of command. It was both a strength and a weakness.

“Well, it’s going to be an early start, boys. I’ll take first watch and keep an eye on Merlin. Arthur, you’d better rest as much as you can - you won’t get any peace until we’re back.” Gwaine moved as he spoke, and the tension seemed to seep away, the men chatting quietly as they readied the camp for the night.

**

Despite Gwaine's advice, Arthur didn’t manage to get much rest, his concern for Merlin ensuring his sleep was light and uneasy. Each time the guard changed, he started awake, unable to make out any words exchanged but hearing the worry underlying each man’s tone. In the end, he rose as the faintest light of dawn began to break, setting about readying breakfast for the men and sorting out what he would need for the day. Recalling what Lancelot had done the day before, he readied the tea for Merlin and then, with more trepidation that he would ever have owned, he approached Merlin.

Leon stood. “Thank you, sire. I’ll rouse the men.”

“Take good care of them, Leon.” Arthur bit his lip.

In a rare gesture Leon reached out and gripped his arm. We’ll be fine, Arthur. We’ll be back as soon as we can tomorrow.”

There was more than one concerned gaze cast in his direction as they mounted and rode out, but Arthur dismissed them all, turning his attention to Merlin.

“Well, I need to get you better - because you have some explaining to do.”

**

The day dragged and Arthur could see no real improvement, but at least Merlin didn’t seem to be getting any worse. Periodically, he made a batch of the tea and managed to get Merlin to drink at least some of it. It didn’t smell too bad, but Merlin grimaced and tried to turn away. It was only when Arthur ordered him, in the firmest voice he could manage, that Merlin became obedient and took it. 

“If only that usually worked. The thought of you actually doing what you’re told is a distant dream, usually.”

Most of the time, he tried to soothe the nightmares that seemed to be driven by the fever. It was sobering how many of them seemed to centre around Arthur. At one point he startled backwards Merlin cried out his name and suddenly an orb was floating before him, cutting through the ever-present winter grey with a soft blue glow. Arthur stared at it for a long time before eventually it slowly faded to nothing.

The day wore on and despite himself, Arthur knew he was angry at Merlin. He tried to think what he would have done in similar circumstances and in those deliberations found some understanding, but there was still a sting of betrayal, and the legacy of his Father’s teachings. He stared out at the green sward, squinting against the gloom. There was no sign of movement and yet there was a sense of anticipation in the air. A shiver travelled through him, and he wondered if there was a storm coming. A breath of air ghosted across his cheek but he was disturbed as Merlin shifted. Arthur turned his attention to the need, yet again, to stop Merlin pushing the covers off him. Even in the limited light offered by the fire, he could see the hectic colour and sheen of sweat on his skin. His eyes, his eyes were slitted part open and all Arthur could see was the gold. 

Cursing softly, he replaced the covers and tried to hate the man who had lied to him for all those years.

He wondered if he was enchanted when he saw his own hand brush the hair back from Merlin’s hot forehead, startled beyond words when Merlin stilled and his eyes snapped open. Blue eyes - blessed blue eyes.

“Arthur?”

“Sorcerer.” It wasn’t fair of him and he hated that he hated himself for it.

“Wanted to tell you.”

Rage washed over him but he managed not to react though Merlin flinched anyway. As ill as he was, there was still no-one who could read Arthur the way Merlin could. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The anger ebbed away and he shook his head, as much to dispel his own confusion than anything else.

“Get better, Merlin, then we’ll talk.”

“All for you. My King.” 

His eyelids fluttered, half-closed and washed in gold once again, before Arthur could react to his assertion and he swallowed.

That was something he had realised through the long day, reviewing many of their past escapades, but he knew there was more to be told. He had a nasty feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

He threw another piece of wood on the fire and after a quick check, decided he was going to have to find more to see them through the night. Percival had replenished the stock in the morning, but even so it wasn’t going to be enough. With a final check on Merlin, he headed out, gathering as much as he could as quickly as possible.

There was someone in the clearing, bending over Merlin

At first Arthur thought it was a child and then the figure turned.

Grettir.

Arthur was about to draw his sword, before he recalled how useless that was likely to be.

“Why are you here?”

“King Arthur,” Grettir bowed. “I heard the call of my lord through the very fabric of the world. His illness disturbs the magic of the earth. I thought I might be able to help.”

Out of all of that, one part of it repeated in Arthur’s mind, dismissing even the question of his own rank.

“Your Lord?”

“Merlin has much to tell you, and there is much that not even he knows about who and what he is. He was born for you, Arthur. You are his destiny.” Grettir seemed to be waiting for a reaction but for the moment Arthur felt too stunned to say anything. With a sly grin, Grettir turned back to Merlin. Out of thin air, and ignoring Arthur’s outraged gasp, he conjured a steaming mug. Deftly, and surprisingly gently, he encouraged Merlin to drink. With chagrin, Arthur saw that Grettir managed it much better than he had done.

“That will help to bring down his fever. There are others who will offer help. Do not refuse, whoever - or whatever - they are.”

“If they can help Merlin, then that will be enough.”

“You have grown, King Arthur. You give me hope.”

With another bow, Grettir was gone and Arthur was left gaping at thin air.

 

**

Whatever Grettir had given Merlin, it seemed to ease the fever, but the rasping sound of air entering and leaving Merlin’s body seemed to worsen as time went on. Arthur kept him as warm as possible but had no idea what to do to ease his breathing. He could almost hear the liquid bubbling and fought down a terror he could barely explain. What he was witnessing was the sound of death. He knew it and in his heart, he begged for help from anyone, even if it was magical aid that came to him now. Despite his anxiety, though, he could feel exhaustion pulling him under and for a moment his eyes closed. Just a moment, he thought.

A warm gust of breath startled him awake. He scuttled backwards, alarmed, and looked up into a distinctly equine face. Confused, he reached out and ran his hand down the soft muzzle. The horse snorted and danced back.

Then he saw the glimmering, snow-white horn.

Scrambling to his feet, he was distracted by the sound of an indulgent chuckle. Over by Merlin a hooded figure was standing, arms folded in the sleeves of the grey robe.

Anhora

“What are you doing here?”

“Emrys is gravely ill. The unicorn has offered a gift. Some shavings from her horn mixed to a paste with this mustard and comfrey will aid him.” As he spoke, Anhora was working at a small bowl. 

The unicorn moved over and snuffled Merlin’s hair. For some reason the sight brought a lump to Arthur’s throat, recalling Merlin’s original attempt to save the unicorn and the ruin his own actions had brought to Camelot. It had been a lesson he’d learned the hard way. Then something Anhora said caught his attention.

“Emrys?”

The unicorn raised her head and regarded him.

“Emrys is his name in the Old Religion. It is his duty to serve the Once and Future King. You, King Arthur.” It has been foretold. 

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure he liked the sound of that. It struck him now, overwhelmingly, that he didn’t want Merlin to be by his side because of some destiny or duty. He hesitated to put a name to what he did want, shying away from a truth he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Arthur was acutely aware of the unicorn watching him. 

He bowed. “Thank you for your aid.” He kept his tone formal, feeling as if he was facing some type of test.

The unicorn trotted over to him, nudging him towards Merlin.

He chuckled, unable to deny this most obvious of hints. “What do I do with the paste?”

“Spread it across the centre of his chest, from the throat and down to his gut. His breathing should ease soon.”

“Will it cure him?” 

“That I do not know, Arthur Pendragon. He remains gravely ill and only the help of magic will save him.”

There was no judgement in Anhora’s voice and yet Arthur still winced.

“It goes against all i was taught.”

“Yet a part of you has always known that those teachings did not explain everything. Otherwise when we met before, you would not have been able to break the curse. There is much you do not know and some of what you hear will no doubt be difficult and painful. To become the King you are destined to be, you will have to learn and understand.”  
  
Anhora was starting to sound like the tutor Arthur had suffered when he was younger, but he swallowed the irritation at being lectured. “Once Merlin is better, he’ll have plenty to tell me, I expect.”

He received a smile for that, and another friendly nudge. He accepted the bowl Anhora held out to him, and busied himself spreading the medicine as he’d been instructed. By the time he had tucked blankets and cloak round Merlin, Anhora and the unicorn had gone.

Night was falling and Arthur spent time collecting as much firewood as he could. Leon had set a couple of traps before he left and they produced a brace of rabbits. Arthur dealt with them quickly, letting the routine of camp work divert his mind from the churning of his thoughts.

Once everything was done, he managed to get some broth into Merlin and then settled down by him. As Anhora had promised, Merlin’s breathing had eased considerably, but there seemed to be no sign of him waking.

“Layabout. All this just to get a day off? I’ll have you working twice as hard after this.” Reaching out, he curved his hand around Merlin’s cheek, checking for heat, he told himself. Merlin was quiet and that in itself was unnerving. Arthur banked the fire and returned to Merlin’s side, covering them both with his own cloak and blanket.

The air was still and silence surrounded him, with not even a breeze in the trees to break the hush. It felt like waiting, as if the whole world was holding its breath. Arthur’s breath was visible and he watched as the cloud cover gave way to a crystal-clear night sky. If he hadn’t been so worried about Merlin, he would have relished the quiet and solitude. The fire cast just enough heat and he was warm enough huddled close to Merlin. He was grateful to the cold, too, as it meant he could see the small puffs of Merlin’s breath as they left his mouth, because otherwise, there was little sign of life.

Unbidden, unconsidered, he whispered into the night. “You say he’s so important to the future, but he’s even more important to me. Help him. Help me.” If magic was going to insist on making its presence a factor in Arthur’s life, then the least it could do was save Merlin. “I’m not going to bargain for his life. It wouldn’t be right.” 

At first he thought it was a single cloud, but it grew and grew until he could hear a steady, rhythmic ’whump whump’, and then, settling on the grassy meadow, was a beast Arthur believed he had slain. He was on his feet, his sword in hand, standing between Merlin and the dragon before he was fully aware.

The light from the fire caught the dragon’s eyes as they regarded him.

“I would not harm Merlin, little prince.”

“Why not him? Why everyone else in Camelot and not him?” Arthur tightened the grip on the pommel of his sword. aching to drive it forward into flesh.

“I was held prisoner for over twenty years. I made Merlin take an oath to free me if I helped him save your life. I was… angry. I could never harm Merlin. He is my kin.”

Arthur had never been stupid, even if he’d never quite fathomed that his manservant was a much better liar than he let on, and his mind was making rapid connections. “Merlin sent you away. He could only do that if he had power - Dragonlord power -“ He closed his eyes briefly. “Oh, Merlin.”

“When Balinor died, his power passed to Merlin. He told me never to return to Camelot.”

“And yet here you are.”

“You asked for aid, Arthur Pendragon. Magic cannot refuse the Once and Future King.”

There was so much hidden in those words, but now was not the time.

“Can you help him?”

In response, the dragon moved forward, stretching his neck until his face was in the clearing. He seemed not to notice that the flames of the fire were washing under his chin. He took a breath in and Arthur tightened his grip further, and then a shimmer of gold-tinted light was blown over Merlin. With his heart in his mouth, Arthur waited.

Merlin took a deep breath inwards and his eyes flickered open, blue eyes a little hazy but without a fleck of gold. Clumsily, he uncovered one of his arms. “Hello,” he managed, bestowing an affectionate pat on the dragon’s snout, before he turned to the fire and curled up. He yawned widely and snuggled into the covering, his eyes closing once more as he slipped into a natural sleep.

Even the dragon seemed stunned into silence.

The bark of laughter cut through the night air, surprising even Arthur though he was the source of it. Swiftly, he checked on Merlin, covering him more securely and touching his hand to the blessedly cool forehead. The dragon snorted, in what Arthur decided was amusement, before it withdrew to settle on the grass.

Somehow, like Grettir and Anhora, Arthur had assumed he would leave once his task was done.

Well, perhaps he might be able to get some answers to some of his questions at least. He was not to know that Merlin would have laughed at such a thought.

“Who is Merlin?”

“Merlin? Merlin is magic. He is Emrys and Dragonlord, born to serve the Once and Future King. Born to help you achieve your destiny.”

“So that’s why he’s here - because of duty and destiny.” The disappointment was cruel.

The dragon chuckled. “Oh no, Arthur, no.” His voice softened. “Destiny brought him to you, and duty held him in those early days, but, Arthur, it is love that makes him stay.”

Arthur fed the fire, though it was the dragon’s words that brought him most warmth.

“I don’t understand any of it. I have seen magic heal tonight. I have seen you do great evil and great good. Why does my father hate magic so much?”

“That would be a hard tale for you to hear, young king.”

“My father still rules Camelot.”

“You are Merlin’s King, therefore you are mine. And you are magic’s King.”

That was an uncomfortable thought. “We’re not going anywhere for the next few hours. so you could tell me some of it.” Arthur thought it might be better coming from a creature he was already angry at.

With a sigh that seemed overly dramatic to Arthur, the dragon settled further, and Arthur listened, in grief and horror, but never in disbelief, as the story of his life was retold and made new. This was the truth, too much else that had puzzled him through the years now made sense. Through it, his simmering anger at Merlin gradually dissipated as with new knowledge came new understanding. He may wish that Merlin had trusted him with his secret, but if Arthur, even now, was not sure how he would have reacted, then how could Merlin possibly have taken that chance. Still, he grinned, it didn’t mean he couldn’t tease him a little. There was some relish in the thought. 

When he had run out of questions, they shared a silence that, if not friendly, was at least companionable. Merlin snored gently in the background and Arthur, secure in the knowledge that Merlin was safe, felt his own eyelids drooping and even the gold of the dragon’s eyes was dimmed. Despite his exhaustion, Arthur was too-seasoned a warrior to do more than doze, alert even then to the forest around him. Whoever was heading through the trees was moving as quietly as they could and there were several of them. Arthur eased his sword closer and smoothly got to his feet, standing between Merlin and any danger that might be approaching. The dark of night was beginning to give way to the murky light of a new winter morning.

“Well, well, look what we have here. A knight of Camelot all on his own.”

There were six of them in total, enough to cow villagers perhaps, but not enough to scare him. The one who’d spoken seemed to the the leader and was a type Arthur easily recognised - brutish, not particularly clever, and holding on to his power over these men simply through strength. Any one of the others, cut from similar cloth, would slit the leader’s throat if they thought they could get away with it. He felt his own lip curl.

“Not just any knight of Camelot.” The sixth stepped forward, a slight man who sounded considerably more refined than his counterparts. “This is Arthur Pendragon and it will give me great delight to kill you.”

“You?” Arthur barked a laugh.

In response, and with a word, the unlit torch in the man’s hand flared to life. “I am a sorcerer, Pendragon.” He pulled himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. To Arthur, knowing what he now knew, it was deeply unimpressive. Real power, he had discovered, was never quite as showy.

He was clearly aiming to strike fear in Arthur, but the effect was rather spoiled as Merlin stumbled forward, yawning, and coming to rest, leaning into Arthur’s side.

“A sorcerer? Me too.” The grin Merlin directed around the company was full of so much cheek that Arthur spluttered. Merlin looked at him then, and his grin morphed into something so much sweeter.

Their opponent recovered quickly. “If you are in league with Arthur Pendragon then you deserve to die. No-on has even matched my power.”

“Well, at the moment, you’re probably right. I’m feeling a bit under the weather, still. Not that you have to worry about me at all.” Merlin smiled benignly round at them and it was only in that moment Arthur saw that the dragon had not only opened his great golden eyes, but was now clearly visible - and the bandits were all ranged in a semi-circle with their backs to the creature. 

Arthur chuckled and sheathed his sword, leaning back against a convenient tree and folding his arms.

Merlin continued. “What you really have to worry about, is what’s behind you.” And he pointed.

“Do you think I’m going to be fooled - “

One of the bandits let out a yell that was more a strangled squawk than anything, and then they were all running.

The sorcerer turned and Arthur almost felt sorry for him as he witnessed the shock and horror. Almost. 

The dragon yawned, displaying an impressive view of sharp teeth. Lazy, half-slitted eyes gazed at the departing bandits. “Do you want me to eat them?”

“No, let them go. They will spread the word far and wide. Camelot is protected.”

“And what of him?” The dragon turned his attention to the sorcerer, who was still staring, his gaze alternating between the dragon and Merlin. 

“That is for Merlin to say.” One of the many things Arthur had considered through the long period when Merlin was so ill, was to determine how magic might come back to Camelot. Early on in those deliberations, he’d decided that magic use would have to be guided and controlled by other magic users - ones he trusted. For the moment that was Merlin and Gaius. He tried not to feel overly proud at the look Merlin bestowed on him then.

The dragon, he thought, also looked approving, although it didn’t really matter at all what the damned dragon thought.

“Shall I eat him?”

Merlin chuckled, leaning a little more on Arthur, who shifted until he could loop an arm round Merlin’s waist to provide support.

“There will be no eating of anyone, Kilgharrah.”

Kilgharrah? The thing has a name? For some reason that possibility hadn’t occurred to Arthur.

“Well, he’s hardly a decent mouthful, I suppose.”

“You are a Dragonlord? I thought they had all been killed. My lord, had I known…”

“Now you do. What is your name?”

“I am Bedwyr, my lord, Bedwyr of Mercia”

“Well, Bedwyr, yes, I am a Dragonlord, but the Druids have another name for me.” 

He was so tall, so assured, thought Arthur, even though he was pale and still weak from the fever, there was a new strength in him. Perhaps it had always been there, but had been hidden.

Bedwyr’s eyes were wide, and what colour remained on his face seeped away as he sank to his knees on the dew soaked grass.

“Emrys?”

Merlin flushed a little. “Look at me.” It was a demand and Bedwyr raised his eyes. “Spread the news. Arthur Pendragon is protected. Camelot is protected. Tell everyone with magic you meet and ensure they understand.”

“I will, my lord, you have my word.”

With a final nervous glance in the direction of the dragon, Bedwyr bowed again and was gone.

“Well that was all rather anticlimactic. Whoops,” Arthur tightened his hold as Merlin slumped into him, and he helped him back to the fire. Not that he was fussing, but he gathered the blankets around Merlin, tested the temperature of his forehead, and added wood to the fire. Merlin and Kilgharrah looked on in silence and some bemusement.

“The knights return. It is time for me to leave. If you need me, Merlin, call for me and i will aid you. 

Surprisingly quickly, given its bulk, the dragon was in the air and gone.

Arthur settled by Merlin. “We need to talk.”

Merlin nodded, his hands plucking at the blanket covering him. Arthur reached out and stilled them. “I understand, Merlin. Secrets lead to deception and that leads to choices made that are not always the best. No more secrets between us.”

“What about the knights.”

“All of those with us I trust implicitly. They are my men and they were concerned about you even though they had realised what you are. That choice, though, is up to you.”

“I don’t like secrets.”

The sounds of a group of men passing through the woods, without much care for silence, could be heard clearly now, and they sat in silence until they appeared from the trail, fanning out into the glade. Each and every one of them was staring at Merlin.

“Oh, Goddess, really? I’m alive, okay. Oh, and I’m a warlock - here.” 

With a flash of gold that Arthur was already liking far too much for comfort, and each of the knights was crowned with a wreath of ivy. Reaching up carefully, Arthur touched his own adornment. It wasn’t ivy. He frowned.

“Oak and mistletoe.” Lancelot provided, and he was smiling around at them all.

“Any chance you could magic up some ale, Merlin? I’ve got a powerful thirst.” Gwaine as ever, insouciant in the face of new knowledge, but his eyes were kind when they settled on Merlin. Percival threw a pine cone at Gwaine.

The others had already begun to break the camp, much as they would on any other patrol, but all were careful not to dislodge their wreaths. 

“Come on, let’s get back to Camelot. Merlin, you’d better ride in front of me - you look as if you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.” He ignored Merlin’s spluttering as he shrugged out of his chain mail and stowed it on Merlin's horse. Once he’d swung himself up onto Hengroen, Leon and Elyan helped Merlin to mount in front of him. Arthur wrapped a blanket around Merlin and then drew his cloak tight about them both. Merlin settled against him, turning to rest his cheek on Arthur’s chest. Arthur tightened his arm.

“Let’s move - we need to be back at Camelot before nightfall.”

They rode swiftly and in a companionable silence for much of the day, until they reached the wide trail that led to Camelot.

Under cover of the cloak, Merlin gripped Arthur’s free hand. “It will be Yule soon.”

“Yes, and I think I need to buy a certain manservant a decent cloak.”

“What can I give you?”

Arthur chuckled, and pressed his lips to Merlin’s head. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something to ask for.”

There was silence for a moment. “Everything I have is yours, Arthur, I swear it.”

“I know - destiny, duty and love, Merlin. I know.”

They rode in silence for a time before Arthur spoke again. “You need to know. Everything I have is yours.”

Merlin smiled up at him and all Arthur needed to know was there in his eyes.

The snow was beginning to fall as the towers of Camelot came into view, and with a word Arthur released the knights, and laughed as the horses, as eager for home as the knights, shot off across the meadow. He gentled Hengroen, who pranced sideways for a few steps before he settled into a comfortable canter. 

Arthur was bringing his warlock hone to Camelot, and in turn Merlin was bringing his king. Together, who knew what they could bring.

 

Fin


End file.
